


leave the future to me

by statusquo_ergo



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M, Tumblr: marveysecretsanta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: After Mike’s bachelor party, the night before his and Rachel's wedding, Harvey finishes off the scotch and gets it in his head to follow Mike home for a little chat. Also included: The Subsequent Hangover (and Requisite So-That-Happened-Last-Night Conversation).For heartsuits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and apologies (she knows why) and executive producer credit to Emily [last name redacted], who demanded the inclusion of cigars, and without whom this would have taken much longer to map out and turned out much worse.

The room reeks of tobacco tinged with sweat, fluorescent light bouncing off the threads of cigar smoke wafting toward the ceiling and spiraling tantalizingly in front of the windows. Downing the last splashes of outrageously expensive scotch, Harvey tosses his winning hand to the glass surface of the coffee table and wishes someone was around to appreciate it. Full house, aces over twos. That’s some serious shit.

Where’s Mike? Mike was definitely here when the game started; Louis caught him on his way out of his office and scared the shit out of him dragging him into Harvey’s without telling him why. There’s Louis on the couch, three sheets to the wind and passed out like a loser, but where’s Mike? That was the whole point of this, and now he’s gone, the fuck is that about?

Wait, wait wait wait…

“You were bluffing,” Louis crowed, ecstatic despite his loss; after all, Harvey had lost too, finally, and the best thing in Mike’s hand was a goddamn pair of fives. That meant a hit of vodka for Louis and Harvey each, and Mike, the devious bastard, took the opportunity to call it a night.

“I should be sober when I’m making my vows, don’t you think?” he said, standing and grinning wider than Harvey had seen him do in…a long time now. “Thank you,” he went on, his smile shrinking to something more sincere and his slightly hazy eyes fixing on Harvey. “Seriously, thank you. Best bachelor party ever.”

Harvey nodded and let him go.

And now, only three hours later, he has _aces over twos._

Louis makes some snorting noise in his sleep and Harvey points to him. He’s right, after all; Mike needs to know, Mike _deserves_ to know. Walking to his desk with as much poise as possible (not much), Harvey picks up the receiver and dials.

“Mister Specter?”

“Ray!”

Ray sucks in a breath through his teeth, it sounds like, and in his mind’s eye, Harvey sees him wince. Don’t give me that shit, Ray, what do you think I pay you for?

“I need you,” he insists, “to drive me, to Mike’s. Mike’s place. Right away.”

It’s a testament to how long Ray has been his driver that he doesn’t ask if Harvey’s sure about this, and a further testament to the level of Harvey’s reliance on Mike that he doesn’t ask if Mike will be okay with it. There’s a shuffling sound like blankets being pushed aside, and then Ray clears his throat.

“I’ll be there in twenty, boss.”

Harvey nods firmly and hangs up.

Note to self: Video phones are the wave of the future.

The next step is…the elevators, yeah.

Harvey only gets lost twice. (It’s not his fault; Pearson Specter Litt is a very big office and they’re all the way up on the fiftieth floor. The _fiftieth floor._ )

Ray drives up at about the same time Harvey stumbles down the front steps; whatever, he’s seen Harvey do worse. It’s not as though Harvey’s even that drunk; he had like, half a bottle, max. And a couple of shots. But those are shots, they don’t count. And it’s been a long night. Everything’s fine.

“Evening,” Ray says as he opens the car door. Harvey nods, tipping a little salute before he crawls into the backseat.

“Mike’s place!” he declares. “And step on it!”

Ray takes his time getting back behind the wheel and even then he drives at the speed limit, damn him. Harvey yanks his cell phone from his pocket, staring at the clock screen saver.

1:53 AM

He squints. Is that right?

1:53 AM

Hm…

He makes it all the way to 1:59 AM before Ray hits a pothole and it’s not like he _means_ to vomit all over the leather, it just sort of _happens._

Ray’s a good guy, taking it in stride. Whatever; Harvey will pay for the deep cleaning, they both know it.

The windows roll down a few inches. Good call, Ray.

The car comes to a gentle stop in front of Mike’s building; Harvey picks his way across the seat and fumbles to open the door.

“I’ll take care of that,” he says, bending over to look in the passenger side window. Ray nods.

“I’ll be across the street, boss.”

Harvey slaps the roof a couple times.

You’re the best, Ray.

Turning on his heel, Harvey stares up at the front doors. It’s a nice building. Big glass façade. Well-lit interior. Good security.

Mike.

The night watchman knows him, knows well enough to wave him up without calling first. Harvey makes sure to keep his spine straight and his steps even; left, right, left, right, not, drunk, not, drunk.

Only sort of.

He stabs the button for Mike’s floor a little too hard, but it’s a good elevator and the button doesn’t break. Ding! This is Mike’s floor, and that’s Mike’s door, and this is the best idea ever.

Aces over twos, Mike. Aces over twos.

There’s a loud sound inside the apartment like someone banging into furniture, a blurted “Shit!” or something like that, and then finally, finally, the door opens and there’s Mike! Everything’s okay, it’s Mike. Mike is here.

Mike waves his hand in front of Harvey’s eyes. (How long have they been facing off in this doorway?)

“Harvey,” he says carefully, “are you okay?”

Obviously.

Harvey steps into Mike’s apartment—Mike and Rachel’s, actually, where is she?

“She’s…spending the night at her parents’?” Mike says as he closes the door. (Did Harvey ask that out loud? Or can Mike read his _mind?_ ) “It’s like the all-out version of the groom not seeing the bride before the ceremony. Harvey.” Mike steps in front of him and puts hands on Harvey’s chest. “What’s wrong?”

Funny, that’s _funny._ Harvey snorts an incredulous laugh, looking past Mike into the magnificently empty apartment.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “What are you talking about, nothing’s wrong!”

Mike narrows his eyes. “So you’re drunk.”

“I am not.”

Mike raises his eyebrows skeptically. Harvey waves him off.

“Only sort of.”

Sighing much too wearily for a visit this important, Mike puts his hand on Harvey's shoulder and tries to walk him into the living room. “Sit down,” he says, “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

That’s actually not a bad idea, come to think of it. Mike’s so smart, and Harvey is so lucky to have him. But, wait, there was a point to this, wait a second, what was it—

“No, Mike, listen,” Harvey insists, stopping up short. “Listen; listen: I am _lucky_ to have you on my team. You and your brain, and your hard work, and your highlighters, and your…your pot, and your briefcase. I am lucky to have you and it’s important to me, it is important that you know that.”

“Uh…huh,” Mike agrees, trying again to push him to the couch. “Seriously, I’m gonna get you some water and you can sleep it off, okay, it’s, it’s fine. Just hang on a second.”

“Mike!” Harvey shoves him a little; this isn’t going right, not at all. “You don’t get it, Mike, I need you! Do you hear me, I need you!”

“You need me to get you some water,” Mike says, giving up on forcing Harvey to sit. (Good call, Mike, you’re so smart.)

“No I don’t!” Actually— “Maybe I do! But no I don’t, that’s not, that’s not, that’s not— No, I need—you, Mike, you can’t marry Rachel! I had you first!”

Mike looks downright offended at that, which is fundamentally the opposite of the reaction Harvey was going for.

“Harvey,” Mike says slowly, as though he’s figuring something out, “is this because I quit? You think I quit because I’m marrying Rachel?”

Hadn’t even thought of that, but! But!

“Aren’t you?” Harvey challenges. “You want to start a family, you said you want to start a family with a, with a clean slate so you’re leaving, you’re quitting, you’re leaving to go off with her, so you can start over, well you wouldn’t have anywhere to start _from_ if it wasn’t for me!”

Sighing, Mike ruffles his hand through his hair. “Would you please,” he implores, “sit down on the couch, or in a chair, or on the floor, and I will get you some water, and some aspirin, and you can just sleep it off. Whatever this is. Please.”

Harvey scoffs. “I don’t need to, ‘sleep it off’!” Lashing out, he grabs Mike’s shoulders—well, that was the goal; he ends up more in the vicinity of his elbows, but it gets the job done. “This is important. Okay, this is _important._ ” He locks their gazes, wondering why Mike looks embarrassed, and frowns as deeply as he can. “You, you cannot marry Rachel. It’s illegal. I’m a lawyer. So I know.”

Mike tries to push down on his shoulders, push him to the ground, but Harvey is a boxer, he knows how to get out of these things, and Mike isn’t exactly laid out on his ass but he does back away, which is…right direction. Right.

“It’s not illegal just because— You know what,” Mike says (he sounds angry, is he getting angry?), “fine, whatever, you can just camp out in my apartment, that’s fine, but I’m getting married tomorrow, which is kind of a big deal, and thank you for the bachelor party, really, but I have to go to bed.”

Think fast, Harvey, come on now!

“You— Water,” he blurts out, “what about the you were gonna get me water. And aspirin. Well where are they counselor, I see no evidence of water or aspirin in the vi-ci-ni-ty.” He jabs Mike in the chest for emphasis (take that) and Mike swats him away irately.

“God, Harvey…”

Oh, Mike. You’re so predictable, such a bleeding heart. Such a caretaker. Harvey grins triumphantly when Mike goes to the kitchen and returns five hours later (or something) with a glass and a small white bottle.

“Here.” He shoves them in Harvey’s direction; poor Mike, his eyes are all tired. Probably because he has to get married tomorrow, what a mistake that’ll be. Come on, Mike, you’re better than that.

“You should listen to me,” Harvey says, nodding as he tosses the bottle onto the couch cushions. “You are…wise beyond your years, but I am years beyond your years.”

Mike physically droops. “What?”

Now it’s Harvey who’s getting angry; he doesn’t like circuitous arguments, they’re so pointless. Mike is too good for that kind of crap.

“Don’t marry Rachel!”

(Needs must.)

“Why, because I worked for you first?” Mike snaps back. “We both knew that was a temporary arrangement, Harvey, how long did you seriously think we were gonna get away with it? Just—let me have this one thing before I go to prison, okay? One thing, that’s all I want.”

“I’m one thing,” Harvey retorts, hating the words even as they come out of his mouth (so inelegant) but what’s done is done.

Mike rubs his eyes. (What time is it?) “Harvey, please…”

“Aces over twos, Mike!”

Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow, Mike presents the most bewildered expression Harvey’s ever seen outside of a soap opera teaser.

“ _What?_ ”

Harvey shakes his head. It’s of the utmost importance that Mike understand, and he so’s smart, why doesn’t he understand?

“You weren’t supposed to leave,” he accuses, pointing at a spot between Mike’s eyes. “That, was unfair. Because I had a full house, I had a full house, aces over twos, and you left.”

“I told you I didn’t want to be hungover at my own wedding!”

“So you walked out on me!”

“Harvey, I didn’t—”

“You did!” Harvey shoves him. “You did and it was unfair!”

“How was that unfair?”

“Because I love you!”

There’s that bewildered expression again, but then Mike just shakes his head, taking a step back, which is definitely the wrong direction.

“Jeez, Harvey,” he says, and there’s that weariness, that tiredness (seriously, what time is it?), but he doesn’t seem angry anymore, so that’s good. “Go, go home, would you, just…go home, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What the hell, Mike?

“What the hell, Mike?”

Mike has his hand on Harvey’s back, trying to guide him to the front door, which is exactly the opposite of the reason Harvey came over here in the first place to this awful, awful building with its stupid glass doors and its lobby lit way too brightly for this time of night, god, don’t these people have any sense of decorum?

“You’re very drunk,” Mike says, “and it’s very late—”

“What time is it?”

“Two thirty-four, and I have a big day tomorrow, and I need to sleep. And so do you.”

Harvey shrugs him off, pushing Mike away as he braces his hands on the doorframe. “You know what, Mike,” he snaps, “you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, do you, and if I’d’ve never come along you wouldn’t have _any_ of this and you should be _grateful_ instead of trying to throw me out on my ass, so you know what, Mike?”

“What, Harvey?”

Harvey smacks the side of his fist against the wall and Mike flinches.

“ _Fuck_ you, that’s what!”

Now that is an exit.

Harvey storms down the hall to the elevator and summons it from the lobby, folding his arms petulantly across his chest while he waits. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Mike sagging in the doorway, his head cradled against his arm, but fine, he deserves it for being such a…such a _him._

The elevator door opens and Mike’s door closes and Harvey doesn’t even wave to the night watchman before he storms out to the curb; there’s Ray, leaning against the hood.

Good old Ray. He’s probably mopped up the puke in the backseat.

Harvey will pay to have the car deep cleaned.

“Driver, once around the park,” he announces as he approaches. Ray smiles and tips a shallow nod, opening the back door for him.

They go straight to Harvey’s place, straight to the private elevator.

Good old Ray.

\---

Harvey’s head is filled with concrete.

Light spills in through the windows (who in the world decided such massive windows were a good idea in the bedroom of all places, honestly) and everything is sort of blurry around the edges.

Today’s the day.

At least that explains the hangover.

Pressing his hand to his forehead, Harvey groans loudly to the empty apartment. He was furious when he left Mike’s, he remembers that much, although what he was doing there, he isn’t sure, and before that…there was alcohol. The bachelor party, of course; Harvey, Louis, Mike, fine cigars and finer liquor, about a dozen hands of poker before Mike took his leave, and then…what. Louis had pressured Harvey to hang around, to play a few more rounds because it had been far too long since they’d last been social with one another in a civil way, and Harvey had agreed for some reason, had wanted to avoid going home, being alone.

Then he drank.

And drank.

And today is Mike’s wedding day.

Sounds about right.

Some memory lingers in the back of his mind, an unclear reel going in and out of focus; something happened between drinking and going home, but what? What made him go to Mike’s? Did Louis have something to do with it? No, he would put a stop to that sort of thing no matter how wasted, but he definitely did…something. Something important, something big.

Harvey rolls over and rail spikes drive simultaneously into his temple and his frontal lobe.

_Fuck._

Groping for his phone—on the bedside table out of reflex rather than good sense, surely—he checks the time (10:35 AM) and groans again as he forces himself out of bed. Mike’s wedding is at noon, for some stupid reason, and the drive isn’t outrageously far and he’s going to be on time, god dammit. Even if he doesn’t get inside, he’ll be there.

He will.

Squinting his aching eyes, trying to focus on anything but his pounding head, Harvey shuffles to the en suite, unearthing a bottle of Advil and drinking straight from the faucet to down two of the pills. He braces himself before looking in the mirror; hell warmed over, as expected, but it could be worse. A shower will help. Maybe.

Couldn’t hurt.

(It doesn’t.)

Thankful for his years of practice donning suits and presenting himself as a consummate professional, Harvey dresses on autopilot and makes a pit stop in the kitchen for the coffee half of his semi-effective hangover remedy.

What happened last night?

The question haunts Harvey all the way down to the garage, all the way to his Lexus; he thinks about calling Ray, but something, something about this is personal, something he wants to keep private.

It haunts him as he pulls out onto Third Avenue, and it haunts him all the way to the Henry Hudson Parkway; he curses Mike and Rachel for their decision to hold the wedding anywhere more elaborate and farther away than City Hall.

The answer hits him as he pulls into Fort Tryon Park and he nearly crashes into a tree.

_Fuck._

Regaining control of the car, Harvey drives the rest of the way to the museum and pulls up in front. It’s technically the middle of the road. At the moment, that’s just about the least of his concerns.

11:52 AM.

They’re probably inside already.

Mike probably never wants to see him again.

Well. Harvey isn’t here in his capacity as Mike’s best friend (formerly), he’s here as Mike’s lawyer (in perpetuity), set to drive him to Connecticut as a courtesy before he spends his honeymoon in federal prison. It’s a work thing.

Then Mike comes out the main door alone, taking measured steps down the front walk, and he sees Harvey there, waiting for him.

Harvey nods, and Mike nods back.

Harvey holds open the passenger side door, and Mike smiles, very briefly, before he climbs in.

The motor hums.

The scenery passes in a blur.

Harvey keeps his eyes on the road.

“Um,” Mike says then. Harvey arches his eyebrow, but it doesn’t matter; Mike is looking to his right, out the window. He clears his throat.

“Can we take the long way?”

Twist the knife, kid.

“Sure.”

If Harvey was headed off to prison, he’d probably want to take the long way, too.

The motor hums, and the scenery passes in a blur.

“So about last night.”

More than anything, just about, Harvey wants to ask not to do this right now, not to bring this up to the fore when they have possibly the most stressful and time-sensitive legal battle of their lives lying in wait, even if Mike doesn’t know it yet. Let’s not throw everything even further out of balance than it already is. Not right now.

Of course, if not now, then when?

Harvey sighs.

“You get back to your place okay?”

Mike smiles tightly. “Yeah, fine, thanks. I’ve gotta say, though, I didn’t have the greatest night. Some asshole busted into my apartment at two in the morning and he said something kind of distracting.”

Gritting his teeth, Harvey doesn’t do Mike the offense of feigning ignorance.

“Sorry about that.”

“It was really unfair,” Mike goes on as if Harvey hadn’t responded. “I mean it’s the night before my wedding, and we’ve been friends for a few years, me and this guy, I thought he was my best friend, and then out of fuckin’ nowhere, he just crashes into my place, absolutely plastered, and tells me he’s in _love_ with me and I’m supposed to be okay with that? I mean what the hell, right?”

There’s nothing Harvey can say to make it better.

It’s a few more minutes before Mike speaks again.

“And then he left and I went back to bed and man was I an idiot, I thought I’d be able to just go back to sleep and deal with it in the morning. I turned on the TV, I read a book, I did the whole deep breathing thing, all the stuff they tell you to do but I just couldn’t stop thinking…”

Mike’s hands come down hard on his knees and he shakes his head.

“I just kept thinking, ‘Why would you do this to me.’”

Harvey wants to beat the shit out of himself.

A few minutes later, Mike speaks again.

“Hey, can we pull over for a minute?”

Harvey swerves to the left where the GPS directs him right, farther into the park instead of toward its edge, and stops the car somewhere that passes for a secluded area. Mike gets out and walks across the grass, and Harvey’s in no rush to follow.

Mike sticks his hands in his pockets and looks up at the sky.

“So Rachel and I postponed the wedding.”

It’s both surprising and not. Harvey leans against the car, next to the fuel door.

“Her parents might’ve said they were okay with us getting married right now,” Mike explains, “but they weren’t. Her mother thought I was taking away her little girl’s future, and her father might respect me as a professional— _might,_ ” he stresses before Harvey can interrupt (he wasn’t going to), “but he… He was hoping we wouldn’t go through with it. I could tell. They were there to support Rachel because they knew it was what she wanted, or thought she wanted, but they were just waiting for it all to fall apart.”

Harvey feels a twinge of guilt for agreeing with them, although it doesn’t make any sort of difference.

“Everything was wrong about it, every single thing, and I want Rachel to get what she wants,” Mike confesses. “I really do. I love her, and she deserves it.”

He takes a stabilizing breath (Harvey’s done it enough times to recognize the gesture) and lowers his gaze to the trees spread before them.

“And she deserves someone who doesn’t just love her, but who loves her without having doubts about it, someone who loves her more than he loves anyone else.”

Harvey nods. He’s boarded that logic train before.

Not exactly the same car.

Following Mike’s sightline, looking out at the neutral trees, the indifferent sky, he steps from the car to Mike’s side, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. His head pounds dully, a persistent reminder of his hangover, and he tries not to let it show on his face.

“You’re a good man, Michael Ross.”

Mike laughs into his chest.

“Thanks for coming.”

Yeah.

Harvey sighs more wistfully than he’d like to admit.

“I said I would,” he says. “And I’m a man of my word.”

Read between the lines, would you?

Yeah. Mike understands. He laughs again, clipped and a little hysterical.

“You’re the ‘anyone else,’ you know.”

Harvey nods.

“I know.” And then, because it feels right: “I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

They breathe the fresh air and come to terms with things.

Mike walks back to the car, pausing with his hand on the door, and Harvey stops on his way around the hood to look back queryingly.

“Hey,” Mike says to the space to the left of Harvey’s head. “Can I kiss you?”

Grinning at the ground, Harvey shakes his head; this is probably the only time anyone has ever posed that question to him unironically, without teasing as a leadup to sex. Mike smiles as well, the resigned smile of “At least I gave it a shot,” and Harvey moves toward him with his hand outstretched.

Mike looks down at it, then back up, and Harvey flexes his fingers, beckoning him closer. Mike takes a half step forward, recoiling at the last second.

“Seriously?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Harvey warns, grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

It’s not quite the best first kiss Harvey’s ever had, but close enough, and it feels much more important than any of the others, which fills in the gaps. Mike is a little hesitant, a little wary, and Harvey resists his impulse to push, to drag him in; it’s exploratory, a new beginning, a reassuring comfort on a bad day.

When they part, Mike leans against Harvey’s chest, bracing his hands on Harvey’s shoulders, and Harvey lets him, resting his hand on Mike’s back.

“I think I’m still mad at you,” Mike confesses.

“I would be,” Harvey says, and Mike laughs.

“This is the worst timing in the world.”

Harvey shrugs, squeezing Mike’s arm before releasing him to round the car to the driver’s side and slide in behind the wheel.

“I don’t know about that,” he says, starting the engine when Mike closes his door. “It’s not like you’re gonna be gone for long.”

Mike’s head drops back against the headrest and he slumps down wearily in his seat. “Harvey, I appreciate it, but I’m getting what I deserve.” He looks out of the corner at his eye, frowning at Harvey’s determined expression. “You know I am.”

“Found innocent by a jury of your peers,” Harvey replies as he pulls out onto the parkway.

Scowling, Mike makes a frustrated sound.

“I won’t be able to deal with it if you put your ass on the line to save me.”

Harvey smirks. “And you think I’ll be able to deal with it if I don’t do everything I can to get you out?”

“Harvey…”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Harvey claps his hand down on Mike’s thigh. “Let me worry about what’s coming next, okay?”

He projects certainty into his voice to make Mike feel better, to remove his concern by way of his control; the comfort won’t last, it won’t follow him into the prison—not for long, anyway, but it’s good enough for now.

Mike lays his hand on top of Harvey’s, rubbing his thumb distractedly across his knuckles; his face has an expression of stoic calm, as though despite everything that’s coming, he’s still found it in himself to be glad that the lie has ended.

It’s a long, hard fight on the horizon.

You plan the war, Harvey spitefully challenges everyone who has ever stood, or will ever stand against them, against Mike; you plan the war, you manipulative bastards, and tell me how it feels when we fire back and blow your fucking heads off.

Let’s just see you get out of this one alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Mike and Rachel’s wedding is set in the Cloisters in Fort Tryon Park (i.e., not Canada), and Harvey and Mike have their heart-to-heart in Van Cortland Park, which is on the way from the Cloisters to Danbury.
> 
> Fic title is from “Dream Island Obsessional Park,” the _Paranoia Agent_ opening theme.


End file.
